


days may be cloudy or sunny

by oh_la_fraise



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Gen, Speculation for Season 6
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-11
Updated: 2020-02-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:34:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22661065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oh_la_fraise/pseuds/oh_la_fraise
Summary: The sun is going down, and David is saying something about losing optimal lighting, a tight frown on his face.  His bowtie has long been undone, a sign of how out-of-sorts he is.  Clint’s stomach clenches, and he looks down at his phone, willing it to ring.  The guests are stumbling around, drunk from the prematurely-opened wine intended for the reception.There’s still no sign of Patrick.
Relationships: Clint Brewer & Patrick Brewer, Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 5
Kudos: 111





	days may be cloudy or sunny

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a New Girl plot and the repeated mentions of how terrible Patrick's car is. Title is from Come Rain or Come Shine.

NOW.

It’s getting late.

The sun is going down, and David is saying something about _losing optimal lighting,_ a tight frown on his face. His bowtie has long been undone, a sign of how out-of-sorts he is. Clint’s stomach clenches, and he looks down at his phone, willing it to ring. The guests are stumbling around, drunk from the prematurely-opened wine intended for the reception.

There’s still no sign of Patrick. 

THEN.

“How’d you know you wanted to marry Mom?”

Clint takes a swing of his beer and considers his answer carefully. He’s been waiting for this question—Patrick and Rachel have been together for a while, now. He and Marci have been holding their breath, anticipating the moment when they can welcome this beautiful and kind woman into their family. 

“I couldn’t imagine life without her,” Clint says delicately, honestly. Rachel is. . .Rachel is wonderful. She’s perfect. But Patrick’s lived a life without Rachel, and is still here to tell the tale.

Patrick squints, as if he’s thinking the same thing and still coming up wanting. 

NOW.

This morning, Patrick had been fidgety, checking his phone every twenty seconds. Clint had chalked it up to nervous energy—Clint had been ready to burst out of his skin until Marci had walked down the aisle and set everything in his heart aflame—and mentally practiced how to knot a tie on another person. His only child would only be married once; Clint wasn’t going to go to his grave having messed up Patrick’s wedding suit. 

He’d never gotten the chance, though. Patrick’s phone had buzzed once, twice, and he’d coughed. “I, uh. Have to go run a quick errand. I’ll be right back.”

“I can come with you,” Clint had offered, bewildered as to what could possibly take Patrick away from his wedding. But Patrick had just shook his head and practically sprinted to his car.

Clint had looked at Marci helplessly, and she’d laughed happily, patting him on the shoulder. “He’s obviously going to go to try to sneak to see David.”

THEN.

Clint hadn’t had time to get used to the sight of Marci without his Grandmother’s engagement ring—Patrick had taken it and returned it within a two week span. He’d been pale and shaky when he’d pressed it into Marci’s palm and announced that he’d broken up with Rachel, but he’d looked relieved, the way he always seemed to when they broke up.

He’d walked up to Patrick’s childhood bedroom, walls lined with carefully dusted baseball trophies and high school yearbooks. Clint knows that Patrick’s favorite toy growing up was his stuffed elephant, that 12 was his lucky number for jerseys, that he said his favorite movie was _Field of Dreams_ when really it was _Aladdin._ But he’s not sure if he knows the man sitting in front of him, staring down at his hands like there’s nothing good left in the world.

“Plenty of other girls out there,” Clint says, and hopes Patrick knows just how much he’s loved. 

NOW.

“His car is held together with duct tape and a seven-part prayer. He’s probably just broken down somewhere,” David says, sounding sure. The wedding starts in half an hour, and no one, David included, has seen Patrick all morning.

Clint feels a little guilty that he doesn’t immediately agree. Clint likes David. He does. He’s good for Patrick. But if it comes down to a choice of Patrick leaving David at the altar or Patrick being somewhere hurt and alone, well. There’s plenty of fish in the sea. 

THEN.

Patrick hadn’t said much, just disappeared from their lives in a series of rapid events like a dominoes falling one after another. Before Clint could blink, _I can’t marry Rachel_ had turned to _I quit my job_ to _I think I need a change of scenery._ Clint had helped him load his car, although there wasn’t much: his guitar and baseball glove and two duffles worth of clothes. His brilliant, amazing son’s life narrowed down to the contents of a trunk of a junky old Corolla. 

“You’ll call if you need anything?” Clint asks. He’d give anything to go back to when he could swing Patrick around his arms and fix all of his problems in the world. 

Patrick nods. Before he knows it, Patrick’s car has disappeared into the distance. 

NOW. 

“There’s only one way to Elmdale,” the dark-haired girl— _Stevie_ —says, a few hours later. She sounds unsure. Patrick’s phone goes straight to voicemail. “He wasn’t on the road back.”

David spins in place, a little; he hasn’t spoken much as the hours have worn on. The catering “staff,” which seems to be the cook and the waitress from the cafe, are already breaking down the buffet tables. Roland is morosely swinging a hammer, disassembling the dance floor. The people still lingering around give Clint and Marci dirty looks. Clint ignores them; even if Patrick has left his fiance to join a cult, as long as he's happy, Clint is okay with it. He'd thought Patrick had been happy with David, but. Well. 

Headlights shine as a car pulls into the motel.

THEN.

“I’ve stopped in a town called Schitt’s Creek for the night.” Patrick’s voice is tired, drawn out. “There’s a guy looking for a business manager; we’re going to talk tomorrow.”

Schitt’s Creek is a small town an hour and a half away; Clint maps it the second Patrick ends their too-short phone call. 

He’s never felt further from his son. 

NOW.

Patrick looks haggard. There’s an older woman beside him, looking tired as well, and David is laughing joyous and wet and hysterical. He makes a beeline for Patrick and pulls him close, and Clint can feel the ghost of the press of Marci’s forehead against his chest as _Come Rain or Come Shine_ had played over their first dance. 

Alexis is hugging the woman tightly, chanting _Adelina!,_ and he catches snatches of Patrick’s desperate murmurs: _airport,_ and _broke down,_ and _no service._ David laughs again, and he’s kissing Patrick, and Patrick is kissing back, arms tight like he can’t imagine ever letting go. 

THEN.

“Do you think I made a mistake?” Patrick asks. His voice is hoarse. It’s late; Clint had gotten up to use the restroom and been drawn like a moth to a flame to the lamp turned low in the living room.

He considers. “Son, I wish I knew.” And he does wish, desperately. Clint would give anything in the world so that Patrick could figure out what would make him happy. 

But that’s not something he can do. Patrick has to figure it out for himself. “I think there’s only one way to find out.”


End file.
